The Girl in Room 105
Chetan Bhagat is the author of eight bestselling novels, which have sold over twelve million copies and have been translated in over twenty languages worldwide.
The New York Times has called him the biggest selling author in Indias history. Time magazine named him as one of the 100 most influential people in the world, and Fast Company USA named him as one of the 100 most creative people in business worldwide.
Many of his books have been adapted into films and were major Bollywood blockbusters. He is also a Filmfare award-winning screenplay writer.
Chetan writes columns in the Times of India and Dainik Bhaskar , which are amongst the most influential and widely read newspapers in the country. He is also one of the countrys leading motivational speakers.
Chetan went to college at IIT Delhi and IIM Ahmedabad, after which he worked in investment banking for a decade before quitting his job to become a full-time writer.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright 2018 Chetan Bhagat
Lyrics on page 185 have been taken from the song Youve Got a Friend in Me by Randy Newman (Walt Disney Music Company)
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Westland, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Westland are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542040464
ISBN-10: 1542040469
Cover design by Rachita Rakyan
Cover photographer: Aishwarya Nayak
Cover model: Kashmira Irani
To those who never give up
And
To those who, like me, find it hard to unlove
Contents
Acknowledgements and A Note to Readers
Hi all,
Thank you!
In times of Instagram, Facebook and YouTube, you definitely deserve thanks for picking up a book, and especially for picking up my book!
No book is one persons effort alone. For this one, too, I have many to thank:
My readers, who continue to support and motivate me with their love. It keeps me going, makes me come out of my lows, and think up new stories to tell you.
Shinie Antony, my editor, friend, first reader of all my booksthanks for your invaluable help.
Those who gave valuable feedback on the manuscript. (Alphabetically) Aamir Jaipuri, Anusha Bhagat, Bhakti Bhat, Kushaan Parikh, Mansi Ishaan Shah, Michelle Shetty, Prateek Dhawan, Virali Panchamia and Zitin Dhawanthank you for all your help and suggestions.
Mohit Suri, Vikrant Massey, Kashmira Irani, Sankalp Sadanah, Anshul Uppal and Siddharth Atha for their friendship and help in supporting the book.
The editors at Westland for all their efforts to make the book better.
To the entire marketing, sales and production teams at Amazon and Westland for working so hard on the book.
To all the online delivery boys and girls who put the book in my readers hands.
My critics. You help me improve and keep me humble. I am not perfect. Neither am I always right. I will work harder and get better. And those who dont always agree with me, I respect your opinions as well. All I would say is, our differences aside, lets work to make people read more. Its important.
My familya pillar of support in my life. My mother Rekha Bhagat, my wife Anusha Bhagat, and children, Shyam and Ishaan. Thank you all for being there.
We celebrate love. But sometimes, we must unlove too.
With that, its time to meet the girl in room 105.
Prologue
On board IndiGo flight 6E766 HYDDEL
Fasten your seatbelts, please. We are passing through turbulence, the flight attendant announced.
Eyes shut, I fumbled to find the belt. I couldnt.
Fasten your seatbelt, sir, the flight attendant personally reminded me. She looked at me like I was one of those dumb passengers who couldnt follow simple instructions.
Sorry, sorry, I said. Where was the other end of my belt, anyway? My head hurt from a lack of sleep.
I had spent the whole day in Hyderabad at an education conference and was on the last midnight flight back to Delhi.
Damn, where the hell was my buckle?
You are sitting on your belt, the person next to me said.
Oh, stupid me! I said, finally clicking my belt shut. My eyes still refused to open.
Tough flight, isnt it? he said.
Tell me about it, I said. I need a coffee.
No service at the momentbecause of the turbulence, he said. Going for an event?
Returning from one, I said, somewhat surprised. How did he know?
Sorry, I saw your boarding pass. Chetan Bhagat. The author, right?
Right now a zombie.
He laughed.
Hi, I am Keshav Rajpurohit.
An awkward side-by-side handshake followed.
We passed through angry clouds. They didnt like this hard metal object disturbing them. The aircraft rattled like a pebble in a tin. I clutched the armrests, a futile search for stability at thirty-eight thousand feet .
Nasty, eh? Keshav said.
I breathed deeply through my mouth and shook my head. Relax, its going to be okay, I told myself.
Isnt it amazing? We are in this big metal box floating in the sky. We have absolutely no control over the weather. A strong gust of wind could rip this plane apart, he said in a calm voice.
Thats comforting, Keshav, I said.
He laughed again.
Half an hour later, the weather had calmed down. The flight attendants resumed cabin service. I ordered two cups of coffee for myself.
Would you like one, too? I said.
No coffee. Do you have plain milk? he said to the flight attendant.
No, sir. Just tea, coffee and soft drinks, the flight attendant said.
Where did he think he was? A dairy farm? And how old was he? Twelve?
Tea, then, he said, with extra milk sachets.
I gulped down my first cup of coffee. I felt like a phone with low battery that had finally met a charger. I rebooted, at least for a few minutes. I noticed the night sky outside, the stars sprayed across it.
You look better now, Keshav commented.
I turned at an angle to look at him properly.
A handsome face with striking eyes, deep and brown. They looked like they had seen more life than a man his age, which I guessed was around mid-twenties. Even in the dark, his eyeballs gleamed.
I am addicted to this stuff, I said, pointing to the cup. Not good.
Worse things to be addicted to, Keshav said.
Cigarettes? Alcohol? I said.
Even worse.
Drugs? I whispered.
Even worse.
What? I said.
Love. This time he whispered .
I laughed so hard, coffee spilled out of my nose.
Deep, I said, and patted the back of his hand on the armrest. Thats deep, buddy. I guess coffee isnt so bad then.
He ran a hand through his hairwhich he wore short, in a military crew-cutand touched the gold stud that glinted in his left ear.
